BABY baby patrick was perfect omg i need part two were they get back together 😭😭💕💕💕
Bd Patrick Texts: Part II
warnings/tags: f!reader, angst?, some fluff!, idiots in love, more than likely tennis inaccuracies, lots of use of y/n (from fans)
a/n: so… they are not together yet, but they will be at some point!🙃 I had my fun with this part and added a whole backstory. I hope the lore drop is not too confusing! If it is though, I would be more than happy to clear up any confusion! Just ask in the comments or send it to my inbox🩷 Anyways I hope you like this part and all the crazy shit that comes along with it😝
GUYS I AM SO SORRY! I HAVEN’T ABANDONED YOU I SWEAR!!!
Masterpost
I know I haven’t been updating and keeping up with my smaus/ text aus as much as I probably should, but I promise I haven’t forgotten about any of them! I’ve been working on some one shots when I get the chance, and they take up most of my time. Once I get those done, I should hopefully be back to updating as quickly as I was before!
I am still not sure what order I’ll be updating in yet, but it should look something like this
- One Shot #1
- Baby Daddy Patrick Texts: Part II (might even post this before the one shot. still not sure😣)
- One Shot #2
- Fwb Patrick Texts: Part IV
- Possible new smau?
I’m also curious as to how you guys feel about teasers? Do they actually hook you and make you excited to read the full thing?
Yes! I like being able to get a sneak peek of what a writer is working on!
I don’t really mind them but prefer when writers post their work completed
I don’t care for them and usually scroll past them
I don’t really like them and feel like they take the excitement out of reading
(For me to be nosy. Don’t click.)
Remaining time: 4 days 15 hours
If you guys would like teasers, then let me know what kind!
It would really help if other writers commented or sent tips to my inbox on how to make a teaser or even shared how you, as a writer, feel about them!
heyy!! I’m the one who sent the request for the patrick fwb smau (if you can’t tell by the user and pfp, i love patrick). I just wanted to say I really LOVE it. I cannot wait for part 3!! hoping art is okay tho 😭😭
Fwb Patrick Texts: Part III
warnings/tags: f!reader, angst!, art is an asshole (and in my opinion kinda ooc!), small use of y/n
a/n: tyty! I LOVE you for requesting this cause I’ve been having sm fun with it!! This part is angsty (idk what got into me). I hope you like it and lmk if it also made you cry because I was crying while writing it. It might have to do with me being really sensitive lately tho.😭 The screenshots might be a little confusing in the beginning, but I hope you guys can still tell who is texting who.😬 ALSO there is a short written part at the end after screenshot 23 so make sure to not miss it!
Part I | Part II | Part III
Masterpost
Two weeks later…
You had been sulking in bed all day. Tashi and Art had told you they had practice and would be busy for most of the day, so naturally you had decided to stay in your dorm and cry like you had been doing every day, for the last three weeks.
Everything was fine until you heard a knock at your door.
You still and go quiet, expecting the person to go away. There’s another knock and it causes you to sigh and mutter a curse.
You reluctantly get out of bed and begin to walk over to the door. “Going!”
The person knocks once again, this time rapidly.
“Jesus, I said I was going!” You open the door and freeze at the sight in front of you.
There, looking nervous as hell, is Patrick.
You stare at him in disbelief for a few seconds before quickly shutting the door in his face.
It snaps him back into reality. “Wait! Baby, please. Let me explain. I know I hurt you, but I promise it was never my intention. Just please let me in and I’ll explain everything.”
You immediately feel the tears welling in your eyes and have to prevent yourself from letting out a quiet sob at his pleading.
Your silence, however, only pushes Patrick to beg more. “Please… I do love you. I said I didn’t, but I do. I promise I do. I love you, sweetheart.”
He waits for what feels like hours for you to say something, anything. And just when he thinks there’s no use in trying, he hears you shuffling behind the door.
He watches as the door slowly opens and reveals you standing there with glassy eyes.
“You have five minutes to convince me that you’re serious or I kick you out, and you never speak to me again.”
Hii! Can I request Patrick comforting reader after a haircut? They cut their own hair, and it turned out shorter than they expected. Maybe they call Patrick crying on the phone and he goes over to comfort them? Thank you!🩷
You call him utterly upset, ugly crying on the phone. He’s out for the night with his friends, doing dumb stuff like he always does, and his phone buzzes in his pocket. The moment he hears your shaky voice he’s in an uber and going straight to your place.
“Hey…” he slurred slightly, face falling slightly as he sees your slightly lopsided bob and snot covered face.
“Hi,” you say softly, wiping your face with the back of your hand.
He sobered up instantly at the sight. “Oh baby…”
He stepped inside, shutting the door and taking you in his arms. He gently pet your hair as you clung to his shirt and cried. You felt a bit pathetic, crying over something as simple as a self done haircut. But Patrick had a soft spot for you, and only you. He held you till you stopped crying.
“Let me take a look at it,” he said, placing his hands on your shoulders and turning you around to see it from behind.
“It’s a mess!” you complain, tears threatening to spill again.
“Hmm…” he thought for a moment, before turning and heading quickly into your kitchen.
“Pat…?” you say softly, turning around to see him come back in with some scissors.
“Shh. Turn back.”
You did as he said, reaching out to take your hair into his own hands. He used the scissors to fix the problem, and then brush it out and drag his nails down your scalp.
“There baby. All better,” he smiled softly putting the scissors down on the table.
“Thank you,” you whisper, turning around to peck his lips and hug him again.
“Of course,” he whispered into your hair, gently rubbing your back. “Anything.”
SYNOPSIS - your boyfriend is the perfect example of trailer park trash - a shame you can't get rid of him.
CONTENT - !smut. unprotected sex. oral!fem receiving. patrick is a certified loser.
WC - 2.8k
NOTE - tt!patrick might be my favorite thing right now...
There were a few words to describe your boyfriend; messy, arrogant, indulgent, unstable. The list is long, but deep down you knew that another word applied perfectly to him, loser.
Patrick Zweig was the kind of guy who, even having all the opportunities in the world, managed to ruin every chance of success in his life. Maybe it was hereditary – probably not, considering his parents had a successful home and a comfortable life surrounded by luxury.
Unfortunately the ability – or lack thereof – to ruin things went beyond his professional career, it reached his romantic life and inevitably affected you.
You like Patrick, genuinely, but with a guy who is emotionally unavailable and has no vision for the future, you can only take things so far.
You met him a few years ago, working as a waiter at a tennis event, in which he was one of the attractions. It wasn’t unexpected the way your eyes lingered on the tall and particularly attractive figure playing tennis, as focused on the match as an animal hunting its prey, although not as majestic as one. Still, there was something almost magnetic about him. Maybe it was the fact that he was exactly your type: tall, pale, strong in a discreet way, a smug smile on his lips and a pair of fascinating eyes.
Although focused on his match, Patrick was sharp and attentive to his surroundings, especially when it came to a pretty girl. Catching his attention was like starting a game of tag, and he was incredibly fast. About four months later, you already found yourself buried deeply in his charm. At the time you thought nothing could free you from the spell of his provocative gaze – luckily, getting to know his place changed your perception.
It wasn’t that you considered yourself someone who likes to judge someone’s living conditions, but you weren’t blind either and knew how to recognize a red flag when it was planted in front of you.
Patrick’s house was actually an old, stuffy trailer, located next to countless other small and dirty trailers. You thought to yourself “Everyone goes through hard times, right?” but it wasn’t just that, weeks and weeks of staying together went by and more you realized that the only thing preventing Patrick from finding direction in life was his own ego. Since he was obsessed with tennis and some supposed potential from years ago, with no apparent desire to find a job or settle into a decent home. In his mid-twenties and more lost and careless than a teenager.
But not everything about him was terrible.
The attentive way his warm fingers wandered over your skin, for example, was almost angelic. Except for the part where he resembled more of a devil.
It was something that left you deeply embarrassed — how little it took for you to succumb to him, all the dirty tricks he did so well. You could tell by his eyes that he knew how much control he had over your body. He drowned in pleasure in your resistance, precisely because he knew you would give in at some point.
And honestly, it was something that surprised even him; Patrick couldn’t come to an understanding of what made him so special to you. He’s not a dumb boy, he knows he got lucky with you and that lack of suitors is not a problem to you - he likes to believe that the reason you never left him for good was tied to how well he knew you, he spent months unraveling every secret wrapped in your body and every lie that fell from your tongue. Patrick knew you very well; even if he liked to pretend he didn’t.
Thinking about that is what led you to the situation you are in. You spent the whole week repeating to yourself what you needed to say to him – and convincing yourself that this would be the step you needed to take to reach some kind of spiritual evolution – you were going to end this confusing phase of on-and-off for more than 3 years once and for all.
However, if there was one more word good enough to describe your boyfriend, that word would be charming. Stupidly and ridiculously charming. He knew exactly how to get out of trouble with nothing but smooth talk and in rare cases like yours, a few touches.
— Alright. I’m just not sure what you want me to do with that.
You let out a long sigh before sitting down on his sofa bed, his eyes lazily following you.
— Nothing? I guess. I just wanted to do this the right way... — He interrupted you.
— Do what, exactly?
— …our breakup?
He let out a short, almost mocking laugh, running his fingers through his hair.
— No.
— No? No what? — You stared at him, incredulous.
— There’s no breakup between us. Not like this. — Suddenly, he stood up, walking to stand in front of you by the couch. — I’ve been listening to you talk for fifteen minutes and so far I haven’t heard a good reason for this nonsense.
You almost laughed — almost, because in a way it was comical how arrogant he was even while standing inside a world of shit. But you knew where he was going with this.
— So you’re saying you’re not going to let me break up with you?
— Come on, pretty girl. You can do whatever you want, you know that. — He crouched down until he was at your level. — All I’m asking you for is a good reason for it. You owe me that, don’t you?
You weren’t stupid. The closeness, the calm and low voice, his hands resting on the couch waiting for a sign that they could touch your leg. It was all familiar. It was everything you thought you could avoid today.
— I like you, Pat. You know that was never the problem between us, but… I don’t want to have a guy like you by my side ten years from now.
— A guy like me? What the hell does that mean? — You rolled your eyes.
— Someone who doesn’t have a realistic life goal. Someone who doesn't know what they want from life, and doesn’t know what they have to sacrifice to get it.
— Come on, I’ve already told you I’m just waiting for a good enough offer to kickstart my tennis career. I have talent. Baby, I have the chance to become one of the best in the world. You just have to be patient.
— Tennis is your dream, I understand that Pat, but it’s a fantasy. In seven years you’ll be thirty and you won’t have achieved anything important. Is that what you want? To live in this middle of nowhere until you die?
— Don’t be cruel, it doesn’t suit you. — He stood up, raising his hands to the back of his neck, making his shirt lift quickly and giving you a brief view of his abdomen.
— I’m not being cruel. But you need someone to tell you the truth without sugarcoating it first.
— Patrick. — Your hands grabbed the hem of his shirt, pulling him closer, between your legs. — I just want the best for you. You know that, deep down.
— And breaking up with me is how you want to show your concern?
— To be honest, I didn’t even know this would be a big deal to you. — You confessed, avoiding looking at him.
He huffed a small laugh.
— What are you talking about? — He held your chin, bringing your attention to his face. — We’ve known each other for what? Three years? Almost four. Do you think I would keep you around for that long if I just wanted a good fuck?
— I don’t know. I can’t always figure out what’s going on in your head.
— Hm. Well, how about I show you?
Patrick’s voice was almost a murmur. His fingers let go of your chin to find the base of your neck as he leaned in to brush his lips against yours. He smelled like cheap cigarettes and coffee.
— I didn’t really come here for this... — You managed to whisper before closing your eyes, getting lost in the closeness of his body.
— I know, baby. — He replied before finally taking your mouth, with the controlling and messy way only he knew how.
Your nails slid along his lower back with the ease of someone who already knows every part of his body. He broke the kiss to carefully and attentively remove your pants and shoe, scattering wet kisses along the path of your leg before bringing his attention back to your mouth. The tips of his fingers squeeze your flesh, and each kiss is a test of patience - he kisses, lightly bites, licks, but never goes up to where you want. The air in the trailer grows heavy, the fan spinning in a distant hum while Patrick works slowly, dragging his mouth higher, closer, and stops.
— So beautiful for me. — He whispers against your skin, his warm breath tingling where his mouth just was.
Patrick moans against your skin before even the first contact. His mouth moves up slowly, biting the soft flesh of your thigh, feeling the warmth that already dampens the fabric between your legs. He kisses there, lightly, a wet tease that makes your hips lift on their own in search of more.
His mouth returns, higher now, his tongue dragging where the dampness already stains the fabric, slow, almost cruel in its control. Every movement is a test. Your fingers tighten in his brown hair, pulling hard, and the moan he lets out vibrates hot against your skin. His teeth catch the elastic of your underwear, pulling slowly, looking up at you halfway with that smile that knows exactly what it’s doing.
You give in. Your head falls back against the sofa bed, your eyes closing, and a low moan escapes your throat. In the exactly way that Patrick wanted to hear. He smiles against your skin, satisfied, and pulls your underwear down slowly, kissing every inch of skin that appears.
The first touch of his tongue is a nearly dry line, dragging from bottom to top without any hurry. You shiver, your fingers sinking into his hair, and he moans against you before repeating the movement, now wider, wetter, but always stopping one step before what you need.
— Dripping for me. Do you always get like this screaming at me, pretty girl? — He murmurs, his warm breath making you tremble.
His tongue returns, drawing lazy circles, and when you push your hips against his mouth, he pulls away - just a little, just enough for you to feel the cold air where the warmth just was. Green eyes meet yours between your thighs, a silent challenge.
— Don’t make me regret this, Pat.
The sentence comes out more vulnerable than you intended. A warning with the shaky voice of someone who has been here before. Patrick stops. His mouth goes still against your skin, green eyes lifting to meet yours between your thighs, and for a second the smile disappears from his face.
— I won’t.
The answer is low, without the usual teasing. He comes up slowly, kissing the path back to your mouth, and kisses you with a softness that disarms a hand on your face, his thumb tracing your cheekbone while he holds your gaze.
And then he goes down again, even slower, and this time it’s different. His mouth finds you with a care that almost hurts, wet, long kisses, his tongue dragging with the patience of someone who wants to taste every part. Your fingers slide through his brown hair, tangling without hurry, and you let the weight of your body sink into the sofa bed while you enjoy the feeling. The wet sound fills the trailer, mixing with the dogs barking outside and your low moans. Your hips lift on their own, searching for more, and his free hand presses your thigh, holding you in place firmly.
His tongue finds the right spot and stops again always on the edge. You bite your lip, your whole body trembling. Your fingers gripping his hair, and Patrick moans against you, satisfied with the effect, before going back to working slowly, taking you closer and closer to what you really want.
When he finally stops teasing, Patrick takes you to the edge with the practice of someone who knows every piece of your body, and when you feel the tips of his fingers opening you more, his mouth sucking slowly, the pleasure bursts like a wave the moan escapes loud. Your hips pressing against his face, fingers dug into his hair as your whole body trembles under the wave he had been holding for so long. He kisses you through it, until you sink into the sofa bed, breathless, eyes still closed.
As soon as you open your eyes, Patrick is already standing. The old shirt lifts slowly — deliberately, revealing the sun-marked chest and the trail of hair that disappears into his shorts. He lowers his hand, unbuttons, and lets the shorts fall to the floor of the trailer without any hurry, green eyes fixed on you the entire time.
— Get up. — He asks, voice hoarse.
He sits on the sofa bed, leaning back, arms open along the backrest, his whole body an invitation. You move, your knee sinking on either side of his hips, and feel his heat against you — hard, sliding against your dampness while his fingers find your hips.
You lean forward, and your mouth finds his neck in a hot kiss before your teeth bite down firmly, without hurry, feeling the salty skin of sweat and his racing pulse under your lips. The moan Patrick lets out is rough, surprised, and his hands dig into your hips. The bite turns into a mark, then a bite again, while you begin to move slowly, going down and up in a rhythm that drags the heat from both of you. The sofa creaks low, following the movement of your hips, and each drop makes his moan thicken against your mouth.
His fingers move up your spine, holding your neck, pulling you closer. You bite again, lower this time, feeling his body tremble, and he responds with a thrust of his hips rising to meet you, stealing control for a second before letting you set the pace again. The rhythm shifts in an instant the hunger that was contained explodes into movement. Your hips drop faster, deeper, your body finding a rhythm that makes the sofa bed squeal along with you, and when the bite sinks into his shoulder, Patrick lets out a rough moan, fingers digging into your hips hard.
— Fuck...
He lets you ride him for a moment, green eyes half-closed, mouth parted, neck marked where you bit. But you know that look and it’s the same as always, that glint of someone counting the seconds before turning the game around. His hands slide from your hips to your ass, squeezing, guiding your rhythm more firmly. And then he pushes his hips up, meeting your descent with a sharp thrust that steals your breath, and smiles — that lazy smile of someone who just reminded you who’s in charge. His pace grows from below, each thrust meeting you halfway, and the wetness between your legs drips warm with every collision, the wet sound filling the trailer along with your heavy breathing. The control you had slips through your fingers as he sets the pace from underneath, each thrust meeting your descent with cruel precision, dragging that perfect spot until you can't keep your eyes open.
As the rhythm speeds up, the sofa creaking, the wet sound of bodies colliding filling the trailer, Patrick’s whole body presses against yours, and when the pleasure finally breaks, you cling to his shoulders, biting your lip to not be too loud, your body shaking as he keeps pushing deep, once, twice, until he buries himself and comes with a rough groan against your neck, warm and full. He holds you like that, breathless, forehead resting against yours, fingers still tangled at the back of your neck. The fight keeps waiting somewhere in your mind, but for now, none of it exists.
Patrick’s fingers trace your spine slowly, a distracted, almost affectionate gesture.
— Still think you need to leave? — His voice comes out low, uncertain, like someone who already knows the answer.
